


routine practice

by phraseme



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Dogs, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 04:42:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17697860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phraseme/pseuds/phraseme
Summary: Vetinari does a crossword. Vimes has an appointment.





	routine practice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [felix814](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felix814/gifts).



Havelock Vetinari was not a man overly fond of confessions. They were messy things, either meant to disturb the status quo or invoke some other means of change; Vetinari preferred change in simple coinage rather than the sweeping revolutions of lilac-colored summers. His routine, established firmly since his days at the Assassins' training school, kept him on a tight schedule. One never had quite enough time in the day to juggle so many knives, as it were.

He tapped his pen on the bare margin of his folded newspaper. Ankh-Morpork did so much to innovate—printed news indeed—as if there was anything new in the city that he did not know about. Today's crossword was fiendishly clever, but it is still a small satisfaction when he finishes it in his allotted time: no more than four minutes, unless the dog took a particularly long time outside.

But Vetinari's dogs are always well-trained. The key, he's found, is to ensure that they consider the training a beneficial experience. Ideally, they shouldn't know it's a form of training after all—Vetinari has heard in Quirm that their politicians tried to cultivate love over fear, but he considers that a ridiculous policy. (1)

"Sir?" Vetinari waits for Drumknott to melt out of the shadows. In the past year, his secretary has taken to wearing black clothes of a different cut than the Assassins' Guild recommend to its graduates. Drumknott now makes virtually no sound at all when he walks, neither fabric or shoes making any noise until Drumknott himself might choose to make any. "He's here."

His eyes strayed to the thick door secluding the Oblong Office from the rest of the city and her watch commander. Often the soul of discretion, Vetinari could understand why his secretary was so nervous around someone like Sam Vimes; he did, after all, choose to employ him as a safety measure against the ever-changing tide of opinions for and against stability in Ankh-Morpork. The ingenious clock in his waiting room would hardly work on Vimes, who made a living disturbing the peace while keeping it.

Yes, there was no doubt that Ankh-Morpork could have done worse to find a City Watch commander. Vimes the short-tempered, Vimes of the Watch, an arresting fellow—Lady Margolotta would benefit, Vetinari thought, from an exchange programme between Uberwald and Ankh-Morpork watchmen. Certainly the last time Vimes had been in Uberwald interesting things had happened. He'd heard that the Uberwald method of procuring confessions from suspects were novel.

Surely enough time had passed. Vetinari would miss him if he'd go—and there is no doubt Vimes would—the city was always a bit less chaotic in his absence. Vetinari would have to think of a way to reward him for it: a new title, or a fine estate of some sort in the country, closer to Persepolis. Vimes would hate it there in its bucolic peace; he was a city man through and through, born and raised on the fumes from the River Ankh.

"Very well, Drumknott." The ink on the newspaper had dried down to a fine, dull black. His secretary nods and goes to open the door, which had already begun to swing open on its own. Vimes looks as exhausted and scruffy as ever, and Vetinari thinly smiles. "Ah, Commander. I see you've joined us. Do you know, I hear the weather in Uberwald is excellent this time of year …"

**Author's Note:**

> Footnote:  
> 1\. Of course, when pressed (preferably with something sharp and pointy) to clarify that particular idea, those thinkers usually added some changes to their policies, and signed them into law saying, "Aaaaargh! Please don't hurt me!"


End file.
